by Frank Smith
Paget nodded. He knew that part at least was true, because they had Sebastian on CCTV as he’d come out of Lorrimer Drive and turned south on Edge Hill Road. ‘Tell me, where did you go and who were you with?’
‘I was with Jim Bradley,’ Sebastian replied. ‘I happened to mention something to him the other day about not being too keen on the family plans for Easter Sunday, so he asked me if I’d like to come along with him and a mate of his to do a tour of the car boot sales in the area. It wasn’t really my thing, but it was better than hanging around here, so I went along. We met at Woodlands Golf and Country Club for breakfast, then set off about ten and drove to a little place near Ludlow, where we picked up Danny Speers. He’s Jim’s cousin or nephew, or something like that, and the three of us spent the rest of the day going from one car boot sale to another, ending up in Ross-on-Wye. We had dinner in a pub, then came home. As a matter of fact, I paid for dinner, so I can dig out the receipt if you like, but Jim and Danny will confirm that I was with them.’
‘Did you buy anything at the boot sales?’
‘Got a portable radio for six quid,’ he said proudly. ‘Talked the bloke down from ten, so I did all right.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself.
‘What was the purpose of the trip?’ asked Paget. ‘Were the others looking for anything in particular?’
‘Jim picked up a pretty good power drill, but I don’t think he was actually looking for one when we set out. I think he just likes meeting people. Danny’s a bit different; he was looking for bargains that he could sell on. He bought a couple of lamps, and a few other bits and pieces, but that was about it. It was just a day out, really, and quite enjoyable as it turned out.’
‘What was your relationship with Justine Delgado?’
Sebastian blinked at the sudden turn in the questions. ‘There wasn’t one,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘In fact, I hardly knew the girl. I’ve been away at uni, so I only see her briefly when I’m home during the holidays. Anyway, she spent most of her time with the kid in the south wing, so the only time I would see her was at the odd meal or in passing.’
Paget looked sceptical. ‘She was an attractive young woman living under the same roof. I’m surprised that some sort of relationship didn’t develop. Did you ever ask her out?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said. ‘Justine was really all work and no play. That was all she ever talked about. She wasn’t interested in a social life, and she made that clear from the beginning. Besides, I have a girlfriend. We’re not officially engaged, but we’ve been together now for several months, so it’s pretty serious. She’s taking a summer course in Leeds at the moment; otherwise, she would be down here with me now.’
‘Did you know that Justine was between three and four months pregnant when she died?’
‘Aahh … was she?’ Sebastian looked more startled than surprised. ‘No, I mean, good God no! It’s news to me, if it’s true. And if it is, I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m the father?’
‘Oh, it’s true,’ said Paget. ‘Are you the father?’
‘No, I’m bloody well not!’ Sebastian snapped. ‘So you can forget that, and I’m tired of all these questions. Are we finished here?’
‘Not quite. Tell me how you spent your time on the Saturday evening before Justine disappeared.’
Sebastian eyed Paget suspiciously. ‘I don’t see what that has got to do with anything,’ he said.
‘Tell me anyway. I’d like to know where everyone was before as well as after Justine disappeared.’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said. ‘A chap I shared digs with for a while, when I was in Bristol, rang me, said he was in town, and suggested we get together for a drink and a chat. He suggested the White Hart, though God knows why. Anyway, we met, had a few drinks, and that was it. I got home around eleven, maybe eleven thirty – I don’t remember exactly – and went to bed.’
‘The name of your friend?’ queried Paget.
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Is that really necessary? You don’t trust my word?’
‘It’s not a matter of trust,’ Paget replied blandly. ‘It’s a matter of verification. I can check at the White Hart, but I’d prefer that you tell me now.’
‘Simon Lerner,’ Sebastian said sullenly. ‘But you’re out of luck if you want to talk to him, because he’s a volunteer on a dig somewhere in Israel. He’s an archaeologist – at least that’s his field. He’s from here originally, but I first met him in Bristol when I was at uni a couple of years ago. He was in town for a few days before heading off to Israel, and he gave me a ring. As I said, we had a few drinks and a chat.’ Sebastian wrinkled his nose and shrugged. ‘All he wanted to talk about was this dig in Israel. Boring as hell. Finally, he said he had things to do and pushed off. I stayed on for a while, then came home.’
‘So where was he staying?’ asked Paget. ‘You say he was from here originally. Is he married? Do his parents live here?’
‘I know he’s not married, but as for the rest …’ Sebastian shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. Can I go now?’
Paget nodded. ‘But I would like you to come down to Charter Lane to make a formal statement; while you’re there, we’ll take your fingerprints and a DNA swab for the purposes of elimination. Your mother will be coming in sometime tomorrow; perhaps you can come in at the same time.’
‘His name is Jim Bradley,’ Tregalles told Paget as they got into the car. ‘He started off as Lorrimer’s campaign manager, but he does a bit of everything. He says they’ve become very close friends over the years.’
‘As a matter of fact, Sebastian told me who he was and what he does,’ said Paget. ‘But friend of the Lorrimers? Or Mrs Lorrimer in particular?’
‘I didn’t ask, but I did ask how well he knew Justine, and he said he’d never actually met her. He said all he really knew about her was that Stephen Lorrimer spoke highly of her and was impressed with what she was doing for the boy. He said he’d seen her with Michael the odd time or two, but that was all.’
‘Did you believe him?’
Tregalles shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem to be any reason not to,’ he said.
‘He is certainly on familiar terms with Mrs Lorrimer,’ Paget said, ‘so give Ormside a ring and tell him we need a background check on Bradley, and his relationship with Mrs Lorrimer in particular. It may have nothing to do with the murder of Justine Delgado, but let’s check it out anyway. And while you’re at it, tell him I want the footage from the cameras on River Road checked for sightings of any of the cars belonging to the Lorrimers and Mills on the nights of Easter Sunday and Monday, because that body didn’t get to the river by itself.’
TWENTY
Thursday, 17 May
‘I think Mrs Lorrimer has boxed herself into a corner,’ said Paget as he studied the timetable on the whiteboards. ‘There is no way Justine could have been killed and the room completely sanitized after eight o’clock on Sunday morning.’
‘And considering the time it must have taken to clean that room and get the body away, there had to be at least two people involved,’ Tregalles said. ‘Which reminds me. I rang Maria Navarro to ask if she knew whether Justine liked lavender, and she said no. She said Justine didn’t like any strong-smelling perfumes or sprays.’
DC Sophie Kajura approached the group and caught Molly’s eye. ‘Got it!’ she said in a stage whisper, grinning as she handed the clipboard to Molly. She paused just long enough to give Molly a brief explanation before returning to her desk.
‘Something we’ve being working on, sir,’ said Molly in response to Paget’s enquiring glance. ‘Kajura spotted the discrepancy when she was doing a background check on Stephen Lorrimer. He used his parliamentary credit card at the all-night petrol station on the corner of King George Way and Worcester Road on Easter Sunday. It was dated and time-stamped at thirty-seven minutes past midnight, which is at odds with his original statement, when he said he spent the night i
n Worcester. So we put in a request for an ANPR check on the roads between Broadminster and Worcester for that night, and these are sightings of Mr Lorrimer’s car. Beginning late Saturday evening, we have Mr Lorrimer’s car leaving Worcester at seven minutes past ten. It appears again on King George Way here in Broadminster at ten fifty-five. And again at the same intersection at twenty-eight minutes past midnight, going the other way. Nine minutes later he’s at the all-night petrol station, where we have a picture of the man himself when he uses his credit card. And the last sighting we have is when he comes off Broadminster Road in Worcester at one twenty-seven on Sunday morning.’
‘Well done,’ said Paget. ‘Do we have anything from the camera covering the entrance to Lorrimer Drive?’
‘Haven’t had time to get to that yet,’ Molly told him, ‘but now that we have the times narrowed down, it shouldn’t take too long to check.’
So, Stephen Lorrimer had lied about where he was that night, thought Paget. Lorrimer wasn’t the first person to have an alibi blown by the watchful eyes of the automatic number plate recognition cameras on the major roads and thoroughfares. This could prove to be the break they needed.
‘He didn’t mention that when we questioned him,’ Tregalles muttered darkly. ‘Must have slipped his mind. Looks like he has some explaining to do. Shall I bring him in?’
‘I’m beginning to think that the whole family has some explaining to do,’ Paget said grimly. ‘Do we have anything more from Forensic?’ he asked Ormside.
‘They’ve examined the weights in the gym in Simla House,’ Ormside told him, ‘but they’re nothing like the ones used to hold the body down. Nor does the wire they found in the garden shed match the wire on the body.’ The sergeant looked at his notes. ‘You asked if there had been any unusual reports of happenings on River Road over the Easter weekend,’ he continued. ‘There was one that might mean something. On the Tuesday following Easter, a Mr Lance Eagleton reported the theft of a skiff from its mooring under the old boathouse below River Road, which just happens to be close to where the body was found. He said he used it on the Sunday, and it was properly secured when he left it, but it was gone on the Tuesday. It was found by a couple of boys a week later in the reeds about three miles downstream.’
‘Sounds as if the skiff might have been used to get the body out into the deepest part of the river, then abandoned when the killer or killers had finished with it,’ said Paget. ‘Thanks, Len. I think things might be coming together at last.’ He turned to Tregalles, but the sharp sound of his phone cut him off before he had chance to speak.
Tregalles, anxious to be off, started edging away.
Paget answered, then motioned for Tregalles to stay where he was. ‘Right,’ he said tersely. ‘Put them in room number one, and tell them we’ll be there in a few minutes.’ Frowning, he slid the phone into his pocket. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said. ‘It seems that Mr Lorrimer is here and is asking to see me. Apparently, he wishes to make a voluntary statement, and he’s accompanied by his solicitor.’
Once the dual tapes were running and the date, time and names of those present had been properly entered, it was the solicitor who spoke first. His name, he said, was Howard Melrose, and he was a partner in a law firm based in Worcester. He was a small, middle-aged man, quite unremarkable in appearance, except for a pair of heavy horn-rimmed glasses that looked almost too big for his narrow face. But the eyes behind the glasses were sharp enough, Paget noted.
‘For the record,’ Melrose said in a thin, precise voice, ‘my client is here of his own free will to make a statement regarding his relationship with Justine Delgado. But I want it clearly understood that this has nothing whatsoever to do with the untimely death of that young woman.’ He sat back in his chair and stared owlishly at Paget.
‘Understood, Mr Melrose,’ Paget said. ‘Mr Lorrimer?’
Stephen Lorrimer sat a little bit straighter in his chair and clasped his hands together in front of him on the table. ‘I have a question first,’ he said. ‘Is it true that Justine was pregnant?’
Paget nodded. ‘Yes, it’s true, Mr Lorrimer. Why do you ask?’
Lorrimer avoided the question by asking, ‘How far along was she?’
‘According to the autopsy report, roughly fourteen weeks.’
‘And I imagine you will be doing DNA testing to try to determine who the father was?’
Paget frowned. ‘I was given to understand that you were here to make a statement,’ he said, ‘but you seem to be here in search of information. So which is it, Mr Lorrimer?’
‘Sorry. It’s just that … well, I had to be sure,’ Lorrimer said with a glance at his solicitor. ‘You see, I didn’t know – at least not until last night, when Sebastian told me – that Justine was pregnant. He said you accused him of being the father, and—’
‘For the record, Mr Lorrimer, I did not accuse Mr Mills of being the father, but I did ask him if he was. And, again for the record, he said he was not the father. However, once we have the DNA results, I think we can settle the matter.’
Lorrimer was shaking his head. ‘There’s no need to wait for them,’ he said quietly. ‘That is what I came here to tell you – for the record, as you say. I am the father of the child. It wasn’t meant to happen, but it did, and I take full responsibility.’ He leaned forward, fingers spread on the surface of the table. ‘You see,’ he continued, speaking earnestly now, ‘you have to understand—’
‘There is no need for elaboration, Stephen,’ Melrose broke in quickly. He placed a restraining hand on Lorrimer’s arm. ‘You’ve given them your statement; there’s no need to say more.’ He moved his hand to Lorrimer’s shoulder and started to get up, but Lorrimer shook it off and remained stubbornly seated.
‘No, Howard,’ he said tightly, ‘that is not all I have to say. I knew that if the police found out that I was the father, and thought Justine had told me back then at Easter, they might think that I had a motive for …’ His voice faded into the back of his throat, and he had to cough several times to clear it. ‘For getting rid of her,’ he ended huskily. ‘And I really didn’t know until Sebastian told me last night.’
‘Stephen, there is no need to elaborate,’ Melrose cautioned once again, only to have Lorrimer round on him. ‘I need to give them the whole picture,’ he insisted,’ so thank you for your advice, Howard, but I know what I’m doing. I’m not proud of what happened, but I have to make them understand how it was.’
Paget and Tregalles exchanged glances. It was not uncommon for clients to argue with their solicitors while being questioned, but it was seldom a good idea.
Lorrimer turned back to face Paget. ‘We were both so focussed on Michael’s progress,’ he said earnestly. ‘We spent so much time together whenever I was home. Justine worked so hard with Michael, and she came to love him as if she were his real mother. But much as she loved her work and Michael, it was no life for someone like Justine to be stuck up there, day in, day out, with only Michael for company, and Julia, well …’ Whatever he’d started out to say was dismissed with a wave of the hand. Frowning as if at some past memory, Lorrimer focussed his attention on his hands. ‘Last Christmas was the worst time for Justine,’ he said. ‘She was homesick and worried about her grandfather. I offered to pay her way there and back to visit him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I tried my best to comfort her and suddenly … it just happened.’ He shrugged guiltily. ‘I know it shouldn’t have happened, but it did.’
Melrose lifted his head and closed his eyes as if trying to pretend he hadn’t heard what his client had said, and a soft sigh escaped his lips.
‘We only had a few days before I had to return to London,’ Lorrimer continued, ‘and even then there were so many last-minute things to do with my work that we barely saw each other. It wasn’t until I returned at Easter that I realized that something was troubling Justine. I was going to talk to her the first chance I got, but with young Terry following her about like a puppy, and so many other things th
at needed my attention, I didn’t get the chance before she disappeared.’
Tregalles remembered the crucifix wrapped and hidden away in the drawer of the bedside table. Justine had been wrestling with her conscience, unable to reconcile her religious beliefs with what she had done. It made sense now, and it explained why Justine’s friend, Maria Navarro, and Tilly and Father Leonard had noticed a change in her.
Lorrimer sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I should have told you this before, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
‘Does your wife know about you and Justine?’ asked Paget.
Lorrimer nodded slowly. ‘She does now,’ he said. ‘I told her last night; we talked it out, and that’s partly why I’m here. Julia thought it best to get everything out in the open.’
‘That’s very understanding of her,’ Paget observed drily.
Lorrimer nodded in a vague sort of way as if thinking of something else. ‘So, that’s it, then,’ he said, preparing to rise. ‘Do I have to sign something …?’
‘We can do that later,’ Paget told him, ‘but I have a few questions before you go.’ He opened a slim folder in front of him. ‘For example, you told DS Tregalles and DS Forsythe that you spent the night of Saturday, March thirty-first, in Worcester, and didn’t return to Broadminster until shortly after nine o’clock on Sunday morning. Is that correct?’
Lorrimer looked puzzled by the question. ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘I got back just in time to change before Julia and I went off to church. Why?’
‘And you stayed at the Raebourne Hotel in Worcester?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were there all night, were you, sir?’ The question came from Tregalles, who had opened a similar folder and appeared to be studying it intently.
‘Of course I was there all night,’ Lorrimer said impatiently. ‘It had been a long and tiring day.’
‘Then, can you explain to me,’ Tregalles said as he slid several pictures out of the folder, ‘how your car came to be caught on camera, leaving Worcester at seven minutes past ten on the night of Saturday, March thirty-first, and was seen again on King George Way here in Broadminster at five minutes to eleven that same night? And,’ he continued before Lorrimer had a chance to reply, ‘we see your car again on King George Way as it is leaving Broadminster at twenty-eight minutes past midnight on Sunday, April first … and here you are again at thirty-seven minutes past midnight at the all-night petrol station at the turn-off to Worcester, where you used your government-issue credit card.’ He slid the still pictures across the table one by one. ‘Can you explain that, Mr Lorrimer?’